Dragon on a Pedestal by Piers Anthony Page A

prefer their women young and, er, wholesome.”
    “Yes, I know,” Irene said. “I was that way once. Then I got married.” She smiled, but it wasn’t entirely a joke. Marriage had brought new responsibilities—and Ivy. Marriage had been the end of her nymphly existence and the beginning of a matronly one, but she wouldn’t trade it. “Well, we’ll try to help Zora Zombie somehow. She certainly deserves it!”
    Irene put her hand to the zombie’s bony shoulders, no longer repelled by the contact, and helped her sit up. Whatever healing processes occurred in zombies were operating now, and soon Zora was back on her feet andstumbling about in her normal fashion. She moved out into the falling rain, where she seemed to be the least uncomfortable.
    “If there is anything I, personally, can do—” Irene called to Zora, still feeling inadequate.
    “I believe you have already done it,” Chem murmured.
    “Done what?”
    “Extended a little human caring. That’s why she mended so rapidly—and may continue to improve, if such treatment continues.”
    Irene was taken aback, and hardly pleased with herself. She knew she had been treating the zombie with contempt before. Could any amount of decent treatment make up for that?
    Well, she would find out.
    “I suppose we’d better sleep,” Irene said. “We can’t do anything now, and we’re probably as safe here as anywhere.”
    The others agreed; they lay down on towels and bloomers and tried to sleep. Zora flopped on a wet rock outside the umbrella shelter. Irene was not at all comfortable, physically or mentally, but she was a realist. She would endure what she must to get her child back alive. No price was too great.
    She thought she would lie awake all night, but somehow she didn’t. Not quite. She thought if she did sleep, she would have bad dreams; however, it seemed the local night mare was not paying attention, and no bad dreams came.

Chapter 5. Coven-tree
    T he baby Gap Dragon was only a fraction of its adult size and not much more than triple Ivy’s mass. But its primary features were intact; it had six legs, a sinuous tail, a set of wings too small to enable it to fly, and a horrendous head full of teeth. Its scales were metallic, a rather pretty green with iridescent highlights, and the tip of its tail was knifelike.
    The dragon eyed Ivy. It slavered. Its tongue slopped around its face, moistening its teeth and making them gleam. A jet of pure, clean, white steam issued from its throat. Big creatures were now too much for the dragon to tackle, but Ivy was little and succulent. It was ready to feast.
    Ivy looked the dragon in the snout. She clapped her hands with girlish glee. “Oh, goody!” she exclaimed in delight. “A playmate!”
    The dragon paused. This was not, it suspected, the proper reception accorded its kind by lone human beings of any size. Its memory of its adult life had been excised along with its age, so it could not remember any prior encounters with this life form; but its basic instincts were more important than its memory anyway. It was geared to chase down a terrified and fleeing morsel, to steam it into a tasty, half-cooked state, to crunch it into digestible chunks soaked in delicious blood, to swallow the delectable pieces, then to burp afterward and take a pleasant nap. It was also geared to flee anything larger than itself or more dangerous, such as a man with an enchanted sword. Creatures of approximately its own size and ferocity it would fight, establishing territorial prerogatives. It was vaguely aware that it had once possessed an excellent private territory, but it had no idea now where this was. That hardly mattered here, because it faced prey, not a monster similar to itself. But the Dragon lacked experience and instincts relating to friendly receptions. What was the proper response?
    Ivy walked up to it fearlessly. “My very own pet dragon!” she cried. “Green, like Mommy’s hair! To be my friend and companion